A Man at the End of His Rope

Mute Wind Town was a remote town at the southernmost edge of the United Kingdom, yet its proximity to the Amethyst Dungeon drew countless Adventurers and traveling merchants. Its prosperity rivaled that of some mid-sized cities.

The Adventurer Guild had even established a regional branch here.

Thanks to the Dungeon's resources, the area had quite a few local specialties.

But Mute Wind Town's most recognizable landmark was neither its precious high-purity Magic Crystals nor its wide variety of magical beast materials, but Rotten Willow Tavern's signature brew—a cloudy liquid infamous for all the wrong reasons.

Even Adventurers who had never set foot here had surely heard of this vile liquor, which reeked of mold and rot and was said to be capable of killing a Walking Mushroom just by being splashed on it.

And despite its quality, the owner mixed in even more water than liquor.

Yet at just one copper coin per cup, it remained an irreplaceable drink for lower-class Adventurers.

Naturally, Rotten Willow Tavern had become the gathering place for all the bottom-rung Adventurers.

In Mute Wind Town, if you grabbed anyone off the street, they might not know where the Adventurer Guild's service hall was, but they would definitely know the location of Rotten Willow Tavern.

Today, Rotten Willow Tavern was once again packed with people from all walks of life.

They guzzled cheap liquor and loudly discussed recent gossip.

For example, the Hermit Empire's increasingly frequent provocations along the border;

Or how, three months ago, the Silver Thorn Squad had ventured deep into the Dungeon's Deep Zone, rescued the Duke's Daughter, and received an astonishingly rare reward—a city.

The name "Silver Thorn" had now become a legendary benchmark in the Adventurer trade, and in the eyes of every drinker who raised a cup to them burned a desire for fame and wealth.

When a weary man with an unkempt beard pushed open the tavern's wooden door, no one spared him an extra glance—figures like his were everywhere in this place.

The man swept his gaze around before walking straight toward a fat man sitting alone in the corner. The latter was holding a wooden cup and taking tiny sips, savoring the poor cloudy liquor as though it were some exquisite vintage.

Seeing the man sit across from him, the fat man called out his name:

"Dylan, it's been years.

"Didn't you retire? What do you want with me?

"Don't tell me you missed this old friend of yours. I'll puke."

"Fatty, are you still in that business?"

Fatty's nickname was Fatty. Dylan did not beat around the bush with him and directly stated his purpose, making the man across from him twitch an eyelid.

Fatty hurriedly glanced around. Only after seeing that no one was paying attention to their corner did he lower his voice and snap:

"What are you doing? You practically said the word out loud. Are you trying to get me killed?"

Seeing Fatty's anger, Dylan instead perked up.

"So you really are still doing it. Hurry, give me three portions."

As he spoke, he pulled a money pouch from his clothes and pushed it before Fatty. Inside were twenty-seven silver coins.

Fatty narrowed his eyes. Rather than touch the pouch, he carefully looked over the man before him.

Compared to seven years ago, Dylan had aged considerably. His body was no longer as sturdy, and the calluses on his hands had nearly vanished.

"Sorry, Dylan. I can't sell it to you.

"From the look of you, you abandoned the skills that once put food on your table long ago.

"We go way back. I can't stand by and watch you throw your life away."

Dylan suddenly seized Fatty by the collar. His bloodshot eyes revealed the madness of a man driven into a corner.

But Fatty merely looked quietly into his eyes.

After a long while, Dylan let go. His whole body went limp as he pleaded in a low voice:

"Fatty, please. My daughter was poisoned with Blood Poison during a mission at the border.

"I need money. A lot of money.

"Other than this, I don't know what else to do... Please..."

Fatty fell silent.

Blood Poison—the most vicious technique used by Vampires.

Those afflicted by Blood Poison did not die immediately. Instead, they were slowly transformed into Blood-Eating Ghouls amid agony.

Though these monsters transformed from humans retained their memories from before the change, they could not suppress their bloodlust. Even when facing their closest family, they would devour them through tears.

Only when facing Vampires did they become utterly obedient slaves.

It was not as though there were no cures. The two most widely known were a blessing from The Holy See or a Rebirth Potion.

Either could save the infected before they were completely transformed.

But neither had anything to do with people at the bottom.

The former required a bishop-level figure to personally conduct a baptism over several days, while the latter cost the astronomical sum of fifty gold coins.

A bishop-level figure was not someone one could necessarily approach even with money, so Dylan's target was clearly the latter.

But how could Dylan, who had only ever been a Silver-Rank Adventurer even in his prime and whose strength had now declined drastically, earn fifty gold coins in a short time?

There were only two ways to make money quickly: one dangerous, and one illegal.

Naturally, the fastest way was to get involved in both.

On the Fifth Floor of the Amethyst Dungeon grew an infamous magical plant—the Parasitic Tree.

As its name suggested, it captured living people and forcibly fed them tree seeds, turning them into new tree stumps. Those turned into tree stumps became their walking legs.

During this process, The Parasitized suffered irreversible brain damage. Even if they were rescued, they would be nothing more than living shells, which was why the creatures were so notorious.

But few people knew that Parasitic Tree seeds were an exceptionally fine ingredient for mental potions.

However, because of their deeply inhumane method of production, they had been classified as contraband by the United Kingdom, restricting both their circulation and the spread of such knowledge.

But the more something was forbidden, the greater the profit.

And where there was profit, someone would always do it in secret.

The item Fatty possessed, called Ghost Sleep Powder, was essential for harvesting Parasitic Tree fruits. It was also what Dylan had come to buy.

But harvesting Parasitic Tree fruits was hardly an easy task of simply running over, grabbing them, and returning.

The Parasitic Trees were not high-level, but they were numerous and clustered within the swamp terrain of the Fifth Floor.

What made them especially troublesome was that they could use the skills and magic known by The Parasitized.

Imagine being besieged by more than a dozen, perhaps dozens, of Parasitic Trees wielding different skills and magic. Even high-level Adventurers could fall victim if they were careless.

Then they would be made into new, stronger Parasitic Trees.

These were magical plants whose danger far exceeded their level.

One look at Dylan was enough for Fatty to know that, in order to earn as much as possible, he would definitely go alone.

Of course, in his current state, even if he wanted to find a team for this job, no one would take him.

Fatty could practically guarantee that Dylan would die down there.

But... Fatty had also had a daughter in recent years. She was the apple of his eye.

He knew that making Dylan watch his only daughter slowly turn into a Blood-Eating Ghoul was likely more painful and despairing than death itself.

"Ha..." Fatty let out a long sigh, took the money pouch from the table, and discreetly slipped Dylan five small packets.

"Five portions!?"

"This stuff is much cheaper than it used to be. And for an old friend, I'm not making a profit off you. If you're lucky enough... this one trip will be enough."

"Thank you... thank you..." Dylan tightly clutched the packets as if he had seized hold of hope, then hurried out of the tavern.

Fatty picked up that cup of cheap liquor again and took another small sip.

"Tch, I'm down seventy-three silver coins.

"My heart's gotten too soft. Looks like I'm old too, not fit for this line of work anymore.

"I should retire and return to my hometown after a while..."